


with a little strength, baby, i'll never let you down

by iwillbeyourgoal



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Dadpool, Family Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 14:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16494290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillbeyourgoal/pseuds/iwillbeyourgoal
Summary: “Sooo,” he said, standing and pulling his shirt down softly over the bandage. “I noticed you’ve got the stuff to make every baked good ever conceived over there. Y’wanna bake and watch IT?”Suddenly Wade’s face was two inches away from Peter’s, and gloved hands reached up to cup his face.“Spidey,” he said seriously. “I would love nothing more in the entire world.”(spider-man and deadpool: wound healers, cookie bakers, lovemakers)





	with a little strength, baby, i'll never let you down

**Author's Note:**

> "but beth iwillbeyourgoal!" you protest. "it's november 2nd! what are you doing posting a spideypool halloween fic on november 2nd?"
> 
> because i am an Adult and i Do What I Want

Peter Parker cursed himself, not for the first time in his life, for not getting stabbed closer to home.

“Ow,” he winced, gripping the deep wound in his side, his hand covered with thick, dark blood. “Owowowowowow. _Fuck_.”

“Hey, man, are you o—mmmnnnff!”

The thwarted robber’s eyes widened as the hero webbed his mouth shut.

“Shut up!” Peter demanded, glaring. “You don’t get to show concern! You stabbed _me_!”

The man shrugged as if to say _it’s a living_. Peter glared at him as he used his non-bloody hand to dial the police on his phone.

“Hi – _ow_ – yeah, there was an attempted robbery at an alley in, uh, 10th and Sherman in Park Slope. Yeah, the guy’s still here. No, he’s, uhm. He’s not going anywhere. Sure. Thanks.”

He hung up and begun to think of where he could go while he let his healing factor do its job. Normally he would wait on the police to show up, but he could tell that this wound was deeper than the usual scrapes he’d suffer in one of these incidents.

“Steve and Bucky are in the Lower East Side,” Peter murmured as he scrolled through his contacts – which were basically a veritable who’s who of New York-based superheroes. “Stark Tower’s too far away. Nat – is Nat even in town right now?”

Groaning, he was about to resign himself to just hopping on the train to Queens and hoping his wound wouldn’t alarm too many strangers when he came across a name towards the end of his contacts list.

**Wade Wilson (Deadpool) ((DO NOT ANSWER!!!!))**

Deadpool. _Deadpool_ lived in Brooklyn, or at least he did recently. Peter kept an eye on the mercenary’s whereabouts, because, frankly, it would have been reckless not to. The man was unpredictable and anarchic, and Peter had had to clean up his messes more than once. But Wade _did_ like Peter, and he knew from experience that the man was good with medicine and dressing wounds. So Peter sighed and set off for where he knew the man’s apartment was – about a 10-minute walk away.

He reached the building and, finding the prospect of three flights of stairs more daunting than he was willing to deal with at that point, waited for an elevator and then boarded it with a mother and child joining after. He angled his arm so it was covering his stab wound and nodded at the two of them.

“I like your Spider-Man costume,” the girl said as she pushed the button for her floor, grinning at him.

“Yeah, it looks just like his, doesn’t it, sweetie?” her mother asked, smiling, and Peter was taken aback at the warm reception before he realized what day it was. “Allie loves heroes, and she’s so excited to see all the costumes tonight.”

“Oh. _Oh_! It’s Halloween. Yeah, this is my, uh. Costume.” He nodded. “I made it myself.”

“I’m gonna be Thor!” the girl said as she beamed and held up her fist as if Mjolnir was in it. Peter couldn’t help but grin at her.

“I think you’re gonna be the best Thor in the world,” he told her as they reached his floor. “And you know what? Thor’s a buddy of mine, and I bet he’d think so too.”

Allie’s face lit up and he laughed a little as he exited and the door shut. As he did, a pain in his side shot through him, reminding him why he was there in the first place. Right.

He came to Wade’s apartment and raised his fist to knock. Before he did, he screwed his eyes shut, sighing. Did he really want to enlist the help of a paid killer?

Did he have any choice?

He groaned silently as he knocked. There was silence for a few prolonged moments, and Peter was slightly hopeful that the man wasn’t home so he could be absolved of this arguably idiotic decision.

“’s open!”

Peter frowned. The man whose list of enemies was as long as the island of Manhattan left his door unlocked? Cautiously turning the knob and slowly opening, he was greeted with the red-and-black-clad mercenary pouring a bag of king-sized candy bars into a pumpkin-shaped bowl.

“Getting an early jumpstart on trick or treating this year? My kinda kid,” Deadpool said, but he cut himself off as he turned to look at Peter. “Oh? Spidey? Is that you or just… a very tall child?”

“Hi, Wade,” Peter said, trying to keep the regret out of his voice. “Can I come in?”

“Sure! Sure, just, you know. Come in.”

Even though Peter generally knew where the man stayed, he had never actually visited his home. Deadpool’s apartment was pretty personalized for someone who could (and would) pick up and change addresses at the last minute. He had a huge TV on one wall, with multiple game systems hooked up to it, and a bookshelf full of DVDs and games. There was a leather couch, and next to it was a side table with a small succulent plant resting on it. A bar area separated the living room from the kitchen, on which dirty dishes and boxed cake/brownie/cookie mixes occupied every conceivable surface.

Oh, and there was an inordinate amount of Spider-Man paraphernalia. There was a painting done of Spider-Man swinging in action framed and hung on the wall, a few newspaper clippings taped to the walls from when the Bugle published full-page photos of shots from his biggest fights, a small round night light plugged in by the kitchen sink that looked like his mask.

“Seriously?” Peter asked flatly, gesturing to a body pillow featuring him in a somewhat seductive pose that lay on the couch.

If Deadpool’s mask could accommodate for his mouth, Peter was fairly sure he would have seen the man grinning. “Fuck apologies, Webs,” he said, shrugging. “I’m a huge fan.”

“I can tell,” Peter said, before more tendrils of pain spread throughout his side, and he doubled over, hissing.

“Oh – oh, shit, Spidey, you’re really hurt,” Wade said, racing instantly to his side. The sincerity, the concern in his words gave Peter pause. “Who did this?” the man continued, his voice lower and, somehow, deadlier.

Peter just stared for a moment before shaking himself out of whatever trance this change in personality had triggered. “Uh. He wasn’t – ow – anyone, really. Just some robber with a knife that got lucky.”

Immediately he regretted his choice of words, but Deadpool either didn’t pick up on the innuendo or didn’t comment on it. He was suddenly across the room, clearing off space on the sofa. “Come on,” he commanded, throwing the body pillow and other accoutrements on the floor. “Sit down.”

Blinking, Peter started, “I just need med—”

“Sit down,” Wade repeated, turning to stare intently at the other man. Peter silently obliged. “Take off your shirt. Are you still bleeding?”

Peter gingerly touched a few fingers to the wound. It seemed like the blood had coagulated – but he’d lost a lot of it.

“I, uhm. I think so.”

“Okay, good.” The tone was softer now, and the man joined him on the couch with what looked to be an extensive first aid kit, a wet washcloth and a bottle of water. “Take off your shirt now, baby boy, and I’ll get you stitched up. Can you reach to take it off or do you need help?”

Normally the term of endearment would earn Deadpool a smack, but the gentle way he was going about tending to Peter’s wound rendered his defenses useless. He raised his arms a little, but it felt like the barely-healed wound would split open if he stretched the skin any more.

“I think I’ll open it if I reach up,” he said, turning to the man. “What should we do?”

“It’s alright,” Wade said. “Just angle yourself this way and move your arms back, if you can.”

Peter did as he said and hissed in pain as the man immediately – but gently – peeled the shirt portion of his Spider suit away from the wound.

“Damn, the guy really got his claws in you,” Deadpool whistled, looking at the gash as he dug around in his first aid kit.

“Wasn’t claws,” Peter said, his jaw clenched as Wade got to work softly dabbing the area with the washcloth and disinfecting towelettes. “He’s not Freddy Krueger.”

“Ooh! Topical! Though I was always more of a Leatherface fan, if we’re going the classics route. If we’re talking more modern day, the goat from The Witch fucks me the fuck up.”

“Shit, yeah, that movie is so scary.” Peter was grateful for the distraction from the pain, and knew Wade could talk pop culture with the best of them. “I thought about that movie every day for, like, three weeks after I saw it.”

Wade was now applying some kind of cream. “Have you seen the new IT? Because don’t get me wrong, Tim Curry as Pennywise can be nightmare fuel for sure, but Bill Skarsgård is…” He shuddered. “The way his head moves,” he muttered darkly, and Peter chuckled.

“I haven’t seen it, actually,” he admitted. “Love to someday, though.”

Suddenly there was a lack of pressure on his side and Peter looked over at the man who had stopped dressing his wound. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Spidey,” the mercenary said, a smile in his voice. “I know what we’re doing after you’re all fixed up!”

Peter blinked. “What’s that?”

“Watching IT, you adorable idiot,” Wade answered, resuming his careful application of what Peter could now see was an antibiotic ointment. “This is perfect. I was just gonna watch Hocus Pocus over and over and pass out candy, but it’s a lot less sad with someone else here.”

Truth be told, Peter hadn’t had any plans for the holiday. Go home, tinker with his suit, play some games, call Aunt May, go to bed. Nothing special. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, hanging out with someone and watching a scary movie on Halloween sounded… really fun.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Passing out candy?”

Deadpool nodded, expertly applying gauze and medical tape. “There are a lot of kids in my building. Gotta make it a good Halloween for them! I got the big candy bars and everything. They’re gonna be lining down the hall to trick or treat here.”

Peter was struck by the simple sentiment in this. He had never experienced the man beyond exchanging verbal barbs in alleyways and on top of the occasional building. He would have never, in a million years and in a hundred universes, imagined Deadpool being excited for handing out candy on Halloween. It warmed his heart a little.

“So are you gonna just be Deadpool, or do you have, like, an inflatable T-rex costume or something you’re gonna wear?” he found himself asking.

The man’s mask stretched in a smile, and he popped up. “Hold on. Lemme show you.”

He disappeared into a room off of the living room, which Peter assumed was his bedroom. A few minutes passed and Peter was reading the titles of Deadpool’s DVDs when the door opened again.

Wade was wearing his Deadpool suit, but over it he was wearing a frilly black, lime green and purple dress that looked like it was some Halloween store’s approximation of a “sexy witch” costume. He was also wearing a pointed witch hat and black vinyl heels. Peter couldn’t help but laugh as the man spun to give him a full view.

“Witchpool, huh?” he said amusedly, but Deadpool planted his hands on his hips in a huff.

“Ex _cuse_ me, I am clearly Scarlet Witch!” he said in a faux-offended tone. “Witch,” he said, motioning to the dress. “Scarlet,” he said, pointing to his suit.

“Oh, of course,” Peter said, grinning. “How could I not have known.”

“I don’t know, baby boy, she’s _your_ coworker.”

Peter snorted and turned to look at the stab wound, which was now nicely dressed and didn’t hurt nearly as much. “Thanks,” he said seriously, looking at Wade. “For helping me out. I really appreciate it.”

Deadpool’s head cocked. “Of course, Webs. You’re my hero.”

There it was again – that barefaced honesty that Peter had never come to expect out of someone like Wade. It was disconcerting to realize that maybe everything you thought about a person might have been wrong. Or maybe, he thought, he had just watched 2005’s Pride & Prejudice too many times. He shook himself out of this reverie.

“Sooo,” he said, standing and pulling his shirt down softly over the bandage. “I noticed you’ve got the stuff to make every baked good ever conceived over there. Y’wanna bake and watch IT?”

Suddenly Wade’s face was two inches away from Peter’s, and gloved hands reached up to cup his face.

“Spidey,” he said seriously. “I would love nothing more in the entire world.”

And that was how they ended up baking white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, dark chocolate brownies, and lemon bars while young children swore in the background.

“I’m telling you, Maximum Overdrive is the worst Stephen King movie,” Wade said, lightly touching the cookies to see if they’d cooled down yet. “Total cheese fest. No sincerity.”

“I _completely_ disagree,” Peter said over the sink’s running faucet – Aunt May and Uncle Ben didn’t raise him _not_ to do the dishes whenever he was a guest somewhere, and this apartment desperately needed his services. “Its sincerity is in the cheesiness. It knows what it is – it’s a movie about sentient ATMs, and it _knows_ it, you’ve got to give it that. Now, the new Dark Tower movie, you’ve gotta admit that’s utter garbage.”

“Of course it is,” Wade conceded. “No argume—oh! Our first trick-or-treaters!”

A knock came at the door. Looking out the large window on the far side of the apartment, Peter realized he hadn’t noticed the sun go down. He’d been at Wade’s for two or three hours, and it had felt like nothing. In fact, it had been fun.

Wade brushed the baking mix off of his costume, paused the movie, and grabbed the bowl of candy as he rushed to the door. “Coming!” he said, and Peter had to grin at the enthusiasm in his voice.

Opening the door, he was greeted by two small boys with what looked to be their older sister. They were all dressed as Hogwarts students, and Wade crouched down to hold out the bowl.

“Oh my _God_ , you’re real live wizards!” he exclaimed as they giggled and picked out candy bars. “That’s the coolest thing in the world. Can I get a picture with them?”

The sister nodded, smiling, and Wade pulled out his phone from his pouch and aimed it at the three of them.

When they left and Deadpool closed the door, Peter commented, “You really like kids.”

Wade, who had been on the way to resume the movie, stopped in his tracks. Peter wished at that moment, more than anything, that he could see the man’s face underneath his mask.

When he finally spoke, his voice was somehow simultaneously rougher and softer. “Kids deserve to be treated like they’re heroes. They get the fuckin’ short end of the stick in every aspect of society. If you can do somethin’ that makes them feel… bigger, then why wouldn’t you?” He turned to Peter. “Y’know?”

Peter nodded, suddenly unable to speak, his throat as dry and thick as cotton.

Wade fiddled with the remote in his hand for a second before turning and pressing play. “Besides,” he said, his tone notably lighter now. “Didn’t you see their costumes? They were _fucking wizards_!”

A loud bark of laughter tore its way out of Peter, and he shook his head. “It was pretty damn cool,” he admitted.

They ended up taking turns passing out candy for the rest of the night. To cover up the tear in his suit, Peter borrowed an oversized X-Men t-shirt that looked like it had been worn probably nine billion times.

“I got it in the ‘90s,” Wade explained, admiring it as Peter pulled it over his head. “Back before Wolverine was cool.”

“Fuck you, Wolverine was always cool,” Peter said, but his words held no heat.

As the night progressed, they saw, among others, a group comprised entirely of pink Power Rangers, a giant inflatable dinosaur, and a two-year-old dressed as Bob Ross. (Wade _and_ Peter got a picture with that one.)

Toward the end of the night, the trick or treaters had slowed down and the two heroes were now watching various episodes of Psych and eating baked goods so quickly that, were they normal human beings, they would have already thrown everything up.

“This show deserved at least one Emmy nomination,” Wade said, mouth full of brownie while Peter nodded vigorously in agreement.

“At _least_ for the Mr. Yang episodes,” Peter replied. “And James Roday deserved a Best Actor in a comedy nod. Even a Golden Globe would have been sufficient. But no.”

“It’s an un-fuckin’-just world we live in, Webs.”

“That it is.”

A knocking at the door interrupted their conversation. “Fuckin’ stragglers,” Deadpool said warmly, standing up to get the candy and head to the door. “They’ll never survive in this capitalistic society.”

Peter snorted as Wade flung the door open.

“Happy Hallo…”

His sentence trailed off, and Peter leaned to see who was at the door.

It was a small girl, about 9 years old, dressed like Anna from Frozen, with her mother. Peter was trying to suss out if Wade knew either of them, but they didn’t seem to recognize him at all.

“…Trick or treat?” the girl said hesitantly, holding out her bucket.

Peter approached them and quietly took the candy from Wade’s hands and gave her two bars. “Happy Halloween!” he said, with perhaps too much enthusiasm to compensate for Wade’s silence.

As they left, Peter shut the door and turned to Wade.

“Did you know them?” he asked, a bit hesitantly.

Running a hand over his face, Wade sighed and shook his head. “No. But that little girl… she looked just like…”

Peter waited patiently for a few moments before asking, “Looked like who?”

The man turned to him. “Like my daughter.”

Peter stared. “Your huh?”

Sighing, Deadpool turned and sat on the couch, resting his head in his hands. “Her name is Ellie. It was a while ago, a one-night stand. I never talked to her mom again because I didn’t know she was pregnant. If I’d known…”

Deadpool had a daughter.

Deadpool, murderer multiple times over, the killer that killers had nightmares about, professional mercenary, was a father.

And what’s more, it seemed like he wanted to be a good one. So much of the night was starting to piece itself together in such a way that Peter was sure he’d never see Deadpool or Wade Wilson the same ever again.

“Wade,” he found himself saying as he moved to join the man on the couch. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t like what you do. I don’t like how you do it. I don’t especially like that it seems like you _like_ doing it.”

Wade was staring down at his hands, and Peter felt a hot wash of shame, but he continued: “But I do think… that you’re a good person. And I think, if Ellie ever wanted you in her life someday… you’d be a really great dad.”

Deadpool turned to look at him, and even with the horrible, blank expression of the mask, Peter could tell his face was full of emotion.

“Spidey…” he said, voice breaking.

And somehow, with that small reply, the quiet brokenness coming from one of the biggest, most braggadocious Peter found himself curling his fingers underneath his own mask and slowly pulling it off.

“Peter,” he said, holding it in his lap. “My name is Peter Parker.”

Wade’s breath hitched and he gently reached a hand out to touch Peter’s cheek.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Petey,” the man whispered, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

“Two seconds into knowing my real name and we’re already doing nicknames,” he said, but the teasing tone was light.

“Comes with the Deadpool territory.”

“Well,” Peter said, smiling and (somewhat) involuntarily leaning into the man. “Can’t wait to see what other ones you come up with.”

“’s that a challenge?” Wade said, matching Peter’s movement.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Okay, well, before that, you should know that I’m ugly as shit and if you want to, you know, do this thang, that’s fine, but try and throw up in the bathroom –”

“Just kiss me, Wilson,” Peter said, and as Wade gingerly unzipped his mask and peeled it off, Peter could see that he was grinning. His skin was mottled and textured, but his bone structure was impeccable and his eyes were so, _so_ blue, and Peter would _never_ say that he was ugly. Never.

Their lips met and Peter sighed softly into it, a tension releasing that he hadn’t known was there. Immediately he brought his hand up to hold Wade’s face, and Wade groaned. They worked with and against each other for a few blissful minutes before Wade broke the kiss and muttered, “You should probably go home and. You know. Heal from your mortal wound.”

Peter whined, “But it’s already almost all the way better, I can feeeel iiiit.”

Wade chuckled warmly. “I want this, Pete. Clearly.” He motioned to all of the Spider-Man paraphernalia in the room. “But if we’re gonna do this, and do it right, we need to take it slow. So give me your number and go home, and _sleep_ , baby boy.”

The caring kindness that Wade was so clearly capable of displaying was lighting Peter on fire. He smiled and gave the man another soft, slow kiss. They broke apart and Peter programmed his number into the man’s phone (with a spider and kissy face emojis, obviously) and packed Wade’s requisite Tupperware container of baked goods.

He opened the door to leave, but before stepping out into the hall, he turned around and smiled at the man.

“What?” Wade asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Happy Halloween, Wade Wilson,” he said. “You’re a good person.”

The tugging evolved into a full grin, and he wrapped the smaller man in a hug. “Thanks, Peter. I’ll see you later.”

As the door closed behind Peter and he started down the hallway to the elevator, he lightly touched the place in his side where he had been stabbed, and made a note to send that robber a bouquet of flowers.


End file.
